


Dear Heart, Come Here

by unremarkablegirl



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Dorks in Love, F/M, Ficlet, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Halloween, Light Angst, SO MUCH FLUFF
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-31
Updated: 2020-10-31
Packaged: 2021-03-09 00:47:03
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,390
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27295885
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/unremarkablegirl/pseuds/unremarkablegirl
Summary: Octavia, surprisingly, is scared. She won't admit it, but Lincoln does not need her to. He will always provide her the comfort she deserves.Excerpt: While unaware of her thoughts, Lincoln certainly noticed that reaction. He glances over, sees Octavia’s shoulders drawn up to her ears. He exhales, slow, as a smile curls his lip. She’s scared, he’s unsure of what, maybe that owl had startled her. But, it’s adorable. Seeing his spitfire, normally so strong and fearless, have these mundane little fears gave him the urge to protect her. He wanted to curl up with her, blanket her body with his and shield her from her fears, both large and small. Unfortunately, he is driving and he doubts she would appreciate him stopping here to cuddle in the truck-bed.
Relationships: Octavia Blake/Lincoln
Kudos: 12
Collections: The t100 Writers for BLM Initiative





	Dear Heart, Come Here

**Author's Note:**

  * For [munequita](https://archiveofourown.org/users/munequita/gifts).



> Written for The t100 Writers for BLM Initiative for 1munequita on tumblr  
> The prompt: it could be a story where Octavia and Lincoln get lost in the woods on Halloween on their way home after listening to scary stories and Octavia is trying to act not scared when she is and Lincoln enjoys seeing the vulnerable side of her

The road is dark beyond the range of their admittedly shitty headlights. There are no streetlights, something about disturbing the wildlife. It gets darker still as they follow the bend in the road, deeper into the forest surrounding their only way home. 

“God, why does Lexa have to live so far,” Octavia mutters. Her head rests on the window, late as it is and tired as she is. Her eyes, though, are alert as they trace the trees and try to peer into the darkness beyond. 

“You weren’t complaining when you found out she was the only one with a fire pit,” comes Lincoln’s response as he drives, eyes intent on the road but hands lax on the wheel. 

“Yeah, well.” That’s all she has. She knows he’s right. She had been so excited to get to explore Lexa’s ridiculously big house, the only one of them that had any real backyard. She was also the least likely to have trick-or-treaters disturb their movie marathon and any subsequent party games. Octavia sorely regrets that part now. She would have killed for a distraction during the story telling portion of the night. It had been nice when they were all sat around the fire roasting marshmallows. She had been warm and comfortable curled up in Lincoln’s lap but no. Noooo, Raven just had to have the bright idea to start telling scary stories. 

And, and Emori. Octavia has to wonder what’s going on with her. She had been way to invested. Octavia remembers her voice, spinning stories and telling tales from where Emori had been tangled with Murphy. She shivers, remembering the twisted tale of the Baba Yaga, the witch both old and young, both cruel and merciful, the one that lived in the woods surrounded by the dangling ears of her young victims. Always in search of her next prey who never know she is there with silent whispers guiding the travelling soul to her, blinding them to the signs until they stand on her doorstep and have no where to go but forward. 

The rustle of leaves and haunting call of an owl bring her back to the present in the worst way possible. Her breath hitches and she flinches, closing her eyes. 

While unaware of her thoughts, Lincoln certainly noticed that reaction. He glances over, sees Octavia’s shoulders drawn up to her ears. He exhales, slow, as a smile curls his lip. She’s scared, he’s unsure of what, maybe that owl had startled her. But, it’s adorable. Seeing his spitfire, normally so strong and fearless, have these mundane little fears gave him the urge to protect her. He wanted to curl up with her, blanket her body with his and shield her from her fears, both large and small. Unfortunately, he is driving and he doubts she would appreciate him stopping here to cuddle in the truck-bed. 

Instead, he clears his throat and waits to see her glance over from the corner of his eye. When he's sure she’s looking, he lays his hand out, palm up in the space between them. He can’t see her reaction from the corner of his eye and he knows that she would dislike it if he turns his head to look. He waits, patient. It’s maybe half a minute before he feels her fingers trace up his palm and then twine with his own. He gives her hand a small squeeze, inquisitive. 

Her breath stutters a sigh and she stays silent. He, too, stays silent. Of the two, he has infinitely more patience, he knows she will speak. Knows that she trusts him, knows that this pause is her gathering her nerves and reminding herself that she is not weak for admitting weakness. That she is not an island, that no one expects perfection from her, least of all him. He waits, and he is rewarded. She admits, haltingly, to being scared from some of the stories told not an hour ago. She stresses that only some of them scared her, she’s not wimpy enough to be scared of whatever convoluted story Harper had been trying to tell. A pause. Her voice is tiny when she admits that Emori’s story had gotten to her.

Lincoln stays silent throughout her admission, his eyes glued to the road, knowing that she hated being seen in her vulnerability and granting her this. When her voice trails off, he squeezes her hand again, firm. He keeps that firm grip as he raises her hand to his lips for a kiss that is both a sign of his love and a promise of protection, should she need it. When he lowers their hands, he doesn’t let go. Their hands stay tangled together over the gearshift as Lincoln follows another bend in the road and—

A shadow, large and shapeless, in front of the truck. Not a shadow, the very absence of light where their headlights should be shining on the road. It is getting larger, gaining shape. It raises its head, its neck keeps going, getting impossibly long. There are horns, large and imposing, sharp, so sharp, its head is turning. Light glints off an impossibly black pupil.

Octavia screams. The truck jerks and the tires squeal. It disappears. 

They should be speeding up, running away before it comes back. But. But, they are slowing down instead, blinker on as Lincoln pulls over to the side of the road. She refuses to open her eyes. She keeps them tightly shut and her head tucked into her chest. She had ripped her hand from Lincoln’s for fear of breaking his fingers with how hard she squeezed. That hand now lays tangled with her own under her chin. 

She is lost in her mind, noting only that they have stopped. In that time, Lincoln has undone his own seatbelt, moved his seat back and is now reaching over to undo her seatbelt. He ghosts his fingers over the crown of her head to let her know he is there and then he is hauling her into his lap ever so gently. 

She latches on immediately, wrapping her arms around his neck and burying her face in his shoulder as she straddles him. They stay tangled together, just as their hands had been for long minutes. Lincoln has a hold on Octavia’s hip, his other hand rubbing over her back, spread warmth and comfort in broad strokes. They are quiet, but for Octavia’s little sniffles and Lincoln’s soft shushing sounds. 

Eventually, her breath settles and she pulls back. She refuses to look him in the eye, instead turning to the console in the middle where they keep extra napkins. Lincoln watches, eyes gentle, as she wipes at her face and blows her nose. He waits for her hands to lower before grabbing another napkin. He licks it and then sets about wiping away the mascara streaks that Octavia missed. His motions are slow and echoed by his hand still stroking her back. 

He knows Octavia will refuse to speak, embarrassed as she is from her outburst. He lets her have her silence, instead filling in the space himself. He speaks in hushed tones, telling her about what they’re going to do when they get home. How he’ll light her favourite candles, dim the lights and build a pillow fort out of couch cushions and blankets. He speaks about making caramel popcorn and hot chocolate. He talks about how they’ll forgo the TV to instead binge animated Disney movies on his laptop so that they can close in the fort all the way. She hangs on to his every word, eyes wide. When he finally quiets, after talking about how they'll fall asleep in the fort and sleep in the following Saturday morning, she draws in and places a kiss to the side of his mouth. This, he knows, is both a sign of her love and a silent thanks. 

She moves, unprompted, shifting over into her own seat and settling down as he adjusts his seat and starts the car again. This time, she reaches out for his hand and holds it between both her own. This time, she turns to face him and watches him, quiet and content, as he takes her to what he believes is her home. One day, she’ll admit that he is her home.

**Author's Note:**

> you can come prompt me on [tumblr](https://unremarkablegirl.tumblr.com) :)


End file.
